


So This Is Christmas

by eruriku



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-16
Updated: 2014-05-16
Packaged: 2018-01-25 00:43:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1622837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eruriku/pseuds/eruriku
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Meet the Detention Club. There's Ed, a sharp-tongued, large-eared Australian; Nick, everyone's friendly neighbourhood Russian; Sandy, a senior forever stuck in dreamland; Pitch, someone everyone should stay away from; and Jack - who is so late for this first date.</p>
            </blockquote>





	So This Is Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> A Frostbite high school!AU for the Christmas season back in 2013 that I came up with while I was in detention. This isn't my greatest stuff (no no, never) but I've never had so much fun writing a group of teenagers as I've had with these little shits.
> 
> Disclaimer: Christmas was great but not that great.
> 
> Warning: For all the youngsters who can't handle an f-bomb, (what are you even doing here), there IS swearing in this fic, 'cause they ARE high schoolers, y'know.

**3:31 PM**

He doesn’t have time for this.

This is the most undeserved, unreasonable, unjustified means of punishment for failing to make it into the school’s premises at exactly 8:25 in the morning. He was late _three_ times, okay, three _goddamn_ times but he hasn’t missed any of his classes nor a single assignment, and yeah, okay, maybe he can come across as a real asshole every now and then, but most of his teachers _love_ him alright, and this is just unfair. Really  - fucking - unfair.

He can’t even touch his laptop to work on that English essay for Mr. Lewis or unlock his phone to text Thia–

–to, um, check his Facebook notifications.

“Oy.”

The clock at the far wall of the enclosed detention room in the high school office reads 3:31 in the afternoon. Ms. Anders had the audacity to send out her troop of secretaries to pick up Jack, the rest of the Detention Club and the other detention kids from their respective last classes of the day. Jack had been in Geography (one of his easy classes, psh) when Ms. Chang had knocked at precisely 3:25 to pull him out of class just as the bell rang to signal the end of school.

_“Y’know, kiddo, if you just started waking up fifteen minutes earlier –”_

_“I’m 17 years old.”_

_“…Fair enough.”_

From his seat in the detention room, Jack blinks and pinches the bridge of his nose. At least it had been Ms. Chang to pick him up and not any of the other secretaries. At this point in Jack’s high school career, the young, petite secretary is almost like an older sister to him after the number of times he’s landed himself into detention. Not a single judgemental word, and only the occasional roll of the eyes.

“Frost.”

Jack gazes blearily at the ticking second-hand of the wall clock. The metal arrow staggers bit by bit, slow and steady, in between the black print of “11” and “12” as the clock hits 3:32 in the afternoon. Jack sighs exasperatedly and his eye twitches impatiently. Only 58 more minutes to go, no big deal.

“Jackson!” a rough, accented voice barks out at him. Jack blinks again and snaps his head towards the voice. A tall, sinewy boy of the same age glares at him from his position leaning back on the legs of his chair. 

“Don’t call me that,” Jack spits back with narrowed eyes. Pointedly ignoring him, the other boy arches one thick eyebrow before speaking again.

“I asked if you could pass the tissues,” he drawls out through gritted teeth. Jack mirrors the other boy by arching his own left eyebrow smugly and reaches for the tissue box at the edge of the table without looking.

“Aww, poor Bunny catch a cold?” he taunts, handing the tissue box over. The other boy’s eye twitches ever so slightly as he snatches the box from Jack and, instead of taking a tissue for himself, passes it over to a small, round boy with blonde hair sitting next to him.

“It’s for Sandy, dipshit,” the taller boy snarls before folding his arms and leaning his chair on the back legs again. Jack scrunches up his nose and doesn’t say anything. The blonde boy peeks at the two other boys from behind his new, merciful tissue. He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t really have it in himself to say anything. Literally all he can do is sneeze three times in a row.

“Bless you,” both boys mutter, still shooting each other hostile looks.

Sandy sighs silently. 

 

**3:33 PM**

They’re called “The Detention Club,” the five of them. The tall, glaring boy who had snapped at Jack to pass the tissues is Edmund Aster, or “Ed” to his friends, or “Bunny” to Jack, because of his large ears. The Australian had moved to Burgess in ninth grade and has since been Jack’s arch nemesis, sort of. From day one – from the very beginning, when Jack had walked into Mr. Borne’s Intro to Literature class – they just couldn’t get along, and after three painful years of eye rolls and sharp words and even a fistfight or two, all they’ve managed to do is mature a little, _just_ a little bit, and simmer their rivalry down to a tense alliance, especially after landing themselves into the Detention Club.

It’s literally the only thing they have in common.

Jack and Ed are the juniors who make up forty percent of the Detention Club. The other three are all seniors who clearly have nothing better to do with their lives. Sandy, for example, is famous for at least three detentions a week because of his tendency to fall asleep in class. It’s worse now because in the cold of the classrooms, all the students bundle themselves up tightly in their coats to keep warm and toasty, which only makes it easier for Sandy to end up snoozing. No one really knows _why_ he sleeps all the time (no one really knows what Sandy _ever_ does with his life other than sleep) and it’s definitely a wonder that his grades are still top notch when he’s passed out for the majority of the school day. On the other hand, it doesn’t really matter at this point how many detentions Sandy accumulates since, from what Jack’s heard, he’s already been accepted into his dream school.

_Must be nice_ , Jack sighs to himself inwardly.

 

**3:35 PM**

The second senior, a large, hulking figure twice the size of Ed and thrice the size of Jack, sits at the far side of the large rectangular table that occupies the detention cell (a legitimate term, because Jack currently feels like a prisoner where he sits). Jack raises an eyebrow amusedly as he watches the leviathan fold delicate paper cranes daintily with his massive hands. For all his size and gruffness, this senior is the nicest kid in town. Nikolai North is a half-Russian, half-American eighteen year old who really, really, _really_ embraces his Russian roots and speaks with a heavy but jolly accent that never fails to piss off his teachers (who are all convinced that he’s bullshitting them for the fun of it). On his very first day at Burgess High, he’d insisted that everyone call him “Nick” or “Nicky,” which sort of weirded people out at first, but they came to realise that, with his twinkling blue eyes, either name fit him a lot better than “Nikolai.” 

Jack’s not really sure of the exact reason why Nick is in detention today but then again, he’s also fully aware that Nick, who moved to Burgess from Russia just last year, isn’t clear on the detention system at Burgess High and thinks that attending detention at least twice a week is a graduation requirement. No one’s bothered to correct him on that, especially not Jack.

Today, Nick’s closest friend at Burgess also seems to have won himself a ticket to detention. Sitting adjacent from Nick is another senior named Phil, hairy arms and all. He isn’t part of the Detention Club and Jack only knows him through soccer practice (his incredible size and uncanny speed makes him the team’s best goalie) but he hasn’t really talked to the guy. Not that he could; Phil speaks in what Jack calls Abominable Snowman, a language that only Nick seems to understand.

The thought of the relationship between the jolly semi-Slav and his hairy sidekick puts a crooked, fond smile on Jack’s lips as he watches the two compare their paper cranes. Unfortunately their joy is short-lived when out of nowhere a large Oxford dictionary is slammed down onto their handful of colourful, fancy origami birds.

“Agh!” Nick cries out in shock at the same time Phil garbles out something in Abominable Snowman. They both express their surprise with such anguish that Jack can’t help but wonder if they can actually feel their paper cranes’ pain. All the activity in the detention room slows to a stop when the voice of a smooth, almost bone-chilling tenor sounds through the air.

“Oh.” Jack’s eyes dart up to the owner of the voice. Then he and Ed glance at each other with narrowed eyes and simultaneously turn to glare at their common enemy.

“Sorry, boys. There was no more room on the table.” 

Jack’s piercing stare burns more persistently into the senior who leaves the dictionary on the crushed paper cranes, walks around a distraught Nick and Phil, and calmly occupies an empty seat at the large table _with almost nothing on it_. The guy even has the nerve to kick up his feet and place them on the table leisurely right next to Ed’s seat. Jack’s eyes flicker to Ed just in time to notice the other boy’s eyes twitch again. He then looks quickly over at Sandy, who has abandoned his tissue box and clutches one against his nose, frozen in place after the slamming of the dictionary.

Meet the final twenty percent of the official Detention Club. Pitch Black.

 

**3:40 PM**

His name is not _actually_ Pitch Black. Most people call him Pitch because his real name is some long, Indonesian-Estonian-Aboriginal-Portuguese-French-Canadian-Alien manifestation that even the teachers don’t care to remember, but “Pitch” is somewhere in there so some random genius decided to call him that back when Pitch had first started Burgess High in tenth grade.

The same genius had also decided to add in “Black” when he’d discovered that Pitch was something of an evil little shit and constantly pranked the entire school for purely sadistic reasons. The only reason he’s probably still enrolled in Burgess High is that he hasn’t killed anybody yet.

And that his grades are _also_ ridiculously excellent for some odd reason.

 

**3:41 PM**

“Am I late to the party?” he asks smugly in his annoyingly sleek voice. 

“You enjoying yourself, mate?” Ed speaks up brusquely, eyeing Pitch’s feet about ten centimeters from his face. Pitch’s mouth curls into an ugly, self-satisfied smirk.

“Only if _you’re_ having fun, dear boy,” the senior drawls creepily. Jack draws in a breath and holds it in for a few seconds to control the tension rising in his gut. There’s always been something about Pitch Black that sets his nerves on edge. Maybe it’s the way his English accent sounds mostly pretentious, or how he thinks that just because he’s a senior, he can throw his weight around and assume that he’s better than _everyone_ , or the way he bullies the underclassmen just to make their life a living hell, or the way he looks at Thia whenever she and Jack pass him in the hallways on their way to class. Pitch’s beady eyes _always_ look her up and down approvingly as if she’s more a piece of meat than a human being and not only does it creep Thia out, it bugs Jack to hell and back.

_Pitch_ bugs Jack to hell and back. 

“What’s wrong, Jacky? Cat got your tongue? Or your _tooth_ , perhaps?” No one misses Pitch’s reference to Thia’s popular obsession with teeth and her aspirations in becoming a dentist. It’s Jack’s turn to twitch as he clenches his fingers in a tight fist, nails digging into the palm of his hand. Pitch leans forward slightly in his seat, his head tilted and chin jutting out in a way that’s definitely meant to challenge Jack. Nick, always alert, notices a potential fistfight (courtesy of Jack Frost) and reaches over to pat Pitch’s back with his large hand.

“Now, now… I think cats not allowed in Burgess High, yes?” he offers placatingly, hoping for anything to reduce the tension in the room. 

 

**3:43 PM**

Pitch scoffs breathily and leans back in his chair, readjusting his feet on the table but not removing them from their vicinity to Ed’s face. The Australian twitches again despite himself. Sandy bites his bottom lip and chances a wide-eyed look at Jack, fairly sure that the pale-skinned boy is about to flip a shit along with the entire table.

“Of course, Nicky. I just wanted to make sure Jack over here’s alright. He looks a little paler than usual, if I do say so myself.” Pitch turns toward the large-eared junior next to him and rearranges his footing on the table, placing his right foot over his left, the shine of his black sneakers glinting under the fluorescent lights in front of Ed.

“What do you think, Edmund? Maybe I said something?” he continues, obviously baiting Jack even further. “Was it what I said about sweet Thia and–”

Jack slams his hands on table and gets up from his chair faster than Pitch can blink. Everyone jerks in surprise and fixes their gazes on Jack.

“ _Don’t_ you say her name, you _sick_ son of a bitch–”

“And what are you going to do, Frost? Throw a snowball at me?” Pitch also gets up from his seat and leans forward with his hands flat on the table. He gleefully sneers at Jack’s snarling face, absolutely delighted at the younger boy’s reactions. Nick stammers a little, trying to stop the conversation and Phil has rolled his head back in exasperation. 

“Bugger off, Pitch. Stop being such a pervert,” Ed scolds Pitch bravely, his tone laced with pure disgust. The senior swivels his head around slowly to shoot Ed an unamused look of contempt but the junior doesn’t stand down. It’s almost Christmas break and Ed has just about had it with this guy’s shit. There is literally one more week of school left and Pitch has taken it upon himself to rain misery and suffering on every soul he’s met the whole week.

_Crikey, this guy’s a nutjob_ , Ed thinks to himself.

Seriously. It’s Friday. Can’t the guy cut the rest of the world some slack.

Jack doesn’t look away from Pitch, not even for a millisecond, even as he feels his short nails press even harder into his hand. It’s a little difficult to think clearly, what with the red that’s tainting the edges of his mind after Pitch had brought up Thia. If this gray-faced asshole says one more thing about his best friend, Jack’s pretty sure he won’t be able to hold himself back; he doesn’t care if he has to come to detention for an entire _week_ as punishment for attacking another student.

Pitch opens his mouth, ready to respond to Ed, but before he can say anything, Sandy raps the table with his knuckles two times. Everyone quickly turns to Sandy at the sound of the Detention Club’s pre-established signal. The blonde-haired senior is staring at the door to the detention room with utter urgency and everyone eyes it for a split second before quickly resuming their previous positions in their seats and taking something out of their backpacks to fiddle with just as the door opens.

 

**3:46 PM**

Ms. Anders, Burgess High’s (evil) principal, stalks into the room, reeking of suspicion, animosity and egg salad. A few feet into the detention room, she stops and sweeps her eyes over the occupants with an air of authority that really doesn’t suit her. Jack has to resist the urge to gag as he pretends to study his calculus notes. Pitch has dragged the Oxford dictionary in front of him and is flipping through it lazily. Phil and Nick have gone back to their paper cranes and are working together to slowly revive the ones that are only flattened and not completely crushed by Oxford the killer dictionary. Ed hadn’t been able to pull out any books and is feigning boredom by tapping the end of a pen repeatedly on the wood of the table. Sandy seems to have given up on life and, with his arms hanging limply at his sides, is resting his head on the table; tissues, his cold and the world no longer of any importance.

 

**3:47 PM**

“Well?” Ms. Anders asks impatiently. Pitch rolls his eyes at the (evil) woman, a gesture she completely misses, the idiot. Jack takes a quiet breath to calm his nerves (this is _so_ not his day) before he looks up at his (evil) principal.

“ _What_ in God’s name is going on in here?!” the (evil) woman spits at her students. The members of the Detention Club plus their hairy honorary member all frown at each other in faux confusion. Like they’ve rehearsed countless times before, the boys turn to their teacher at the same time before addressing her directly.

“Sorry, miss?” Pitch offers politely, or as politely as he can muster without revealing any of his distaste for the woman. Ms. Anders’s nostrils flare a little bit and Pitch can’t help but flinch away from her.

“What was that ruckus I heard?”

“Err, what ruckus?” Ed asks, doing his best to hide his irritation with the situation, with this goddamn woman, with Pitch, with _everything_.

Ms. Anders sighs vexedly and narrows her eyes at the Australian junior, who simply blinks in response. Jack smirks slightly at the other boy’s indifference and watches their (evil) principal’s reaction.

“I was just in my office a few doors down,” she says slowly, which is kind of insulting, “and I heard a ruckus.” 

“Could you describe the ruckus, ma’am?” Jack asks cheekily with every intention to piss Ms. Anders off even more. Ms. Anders doesn’t miss his tone of voice and steps forward to face Jack properly, now more irked than suspicious.

“You have something you want to tell me, Mr. Frost?” she challenges him.

“No, ma’am,” Jack responds confidently.

“Then why don’t you explain to me what I was hearing just a minute ago, if you have nothing _useful_ to say,”  she tests him. Jack swallows the urge to throw 300 different profanities at the woman and composes himself.

“Well, Ms. Anders, first I’d offer the idea that you’re hearing things and hallucinating, and that you might want to lay off the egg salad for a bit; I hear the cafeteria lady puts some weird shit in it. Then I’d follow up with the suggestion that perhaps you should go see the nurse to get your head checked and to ask for some tylenol,” he says, not blinking once. “But if we hear another ruckus, we’ll make sure to let you know,” he finishes smoothly. Everyone drops their acting faces for a few seconds, more than a little shocked with Jack’s nerve today. Even Sandy has lifted his head up from his arms to stare at Jack incredulously with his mouth open in a small O. Ms. Anders’s nostrils flare even wider, something Pitch hadn’t known was possible, and her eyes widen in surprise. She’s beyond herself with Jack’s impoliteness and takes a few more steps toward him in fury.

“Mr. Frost, you’ve just crossed –”

“Ms. Anders! There you are!” Ms. Chang appears out of nowhere, saving Jack from imminent death by shoving a clipboard and ballpoint pen into the (very evil) principal’s hands.

“Excuse me, Ms. Chang, I’m in the middle of –”

“Mr. O’Reilly is on the phone right now and they really need your signatures here, here, here, and on each of these pages, as well. There’s also another entire set of packets we need to review and they want that in by tomorrow,” she informs Ms. Anders quickly, intentionally raining on her parade, and starts to usher her employer out of the room, even throwing an apologetic look to the boys for good measure.

“M-Ms. Chang, I–”

“Sorry, guys, the adults have to work now, but remember to _keep it down_!” the short secretary says as she nudges the principal out of the room completely, throwing Jack a pointed look that clearly says _Watch it, you little shit_. He blinks, gathering himself and throws the secretary a sheepish look before saluting her. She rolls her eyes but returns his salute quickly before turning back to Ms. Anders and fussing over the clipboard of papers again.

 

**3:50 PM**

“Crikey, Jack,” Ed starts, turning to the other junior, “you’re a hell of a lot more on edge than you normally are. What’s your deal, mate?”

Jack looks at him with a slightly annoyed look on his face and looks away uncomfortably.

“I… I have to meet someone,” he responds after a bit. Ed arches an eyebrow.

“I was hoping I could leave school right after fifth period,” Jack continues.

“And who is this someone who’s so much more important than Detention Club?” Pitch asks nosily, not even looking up from his dictionary. Jack throws him a nasty look anyway.

“None of your fucking business, pervert,” he snarls. Pitch chuckles at this and shakes his head but doesn’t respond to that. Ed notices the sharp (maybe even protective) glint in Jack’s eyes and both of his bushy eyebrows go up.

“Ohh,” he realises, “is it Thia?” Jack blanches and turns back to Ed cautiously.

“…Yeah. Sure,” he says quickly.

“Only 40 minutes to go, Jacky,” Nick pipes up from the other end of the table with bright smile plastered on his face. Phil mumbles something in Abominable Snowman that Jack assumes represents his agreement and Sandy nods weakly with an encouraging thumbs up.

“Yeah, but the point is I’m going to be _late_ because of the Wicked Witch of the West,” Jack explains, referring to the soccer team’s nickname for the principal. 

“You see her every day, mate. Why the rush?” Ed asks but he’s already got an answer growing at the back of his mind and a small smirk on the corner of his mouth to prove it. Jack notices and narrows his eyes at the Australian.

“Isn’t it obvious, Edmund?” Pitch sighs and looks up. “Our icy little prince finally grew the balls to go on a first date with Thia. And he’s late.”

Jack chokes on his words as everyone remains silent and looks at him expectantly. 

“… I was going to say it,” Ed mumbles.

 

**3:52 PM**

“I-it’s … it’s n-not like that!” Jack stammers, his normally pale face blushing a deep red down to the base of his neck. His left hand dashes up to rub the back of his neck as it always does when he’s flustered. Pitch rolls his eyes and turns back to his dictionary.

“You bloody juniors have no idea how to handle relationships,” he mumbles to himself before turning to the S section of the dictionary. Ed frowns at Pitch’s words.

“And who are _you_ to talk about relationships?” Pitch looks up again from his page in the dictionary and shoots Ed a toothy grin.

“Oh, Aster, you _really_ don’t want to hear about the lovely ladies I’ve –”

“Gamkfgfk!” A burst of Abominable Snowman from Phil interrupts Pitch from continuing (thank fucking _goodness_ ) and points at the window behind Jack and Ed, which gives the occupants of the detention room a view of the courtyard in front of the school. On this particular Friday, it’s snowing lightly despite the blue skies, which are tinted with soft wisps of cirrus clouds. The leafless branches of the trees around the courtyard are replaced with thin layers of snow, some of which are carried away by the wind every now and then. The snowfall makes the afternoon sparkle against the glow of the setting sun and the glints of light remind Jack of Thia–

–Thia, who is standing on the other side of the window, holding her phone and staring at him in surprise.

 

**3:53 PM**

‘What…?’ she mouths from the other side of the glass with a confused look in her eyes. The window is sound proof (Ed swears it’s bulletproof too) so no one can hear her if she says anything. For a second, Jack forgets that there are other teenaged boys behind him and his breath is taken away with the image of Thia surrounded by all things frosty and snowy.

She’s wrapped up snuggly in a thick, deep blue coat that’s zipped up to her chin. A long, yellow scarf wounds itself around her neck, matching the yellow beanie covering her ears. Her shoulder length wavy hair drapes over her scarf and the few highlighted strands peek out of the side of her beanie. Jack notices that a few snowflakes have landed in her hair and all over the sleeves of her coat. He gulps at the sight of her but the image is shattered when she narrows her eyes and starts yelling at him silently.

 

**3:54 PM**

From the other side of the window, Thia no longer feels as cold as she was feeling a few minutes ago. At the moment, she’s livid enough with her so-called “best friend” that her anger warms her chest all the way up to her neck under her scarf. She’s spent the past twenty or so minutes waiting for him in front of her Spanish class like they’d planned to, then she’d walked _all_ over the school looking for him, and not once did he answer any of her texts or calls. And to think, this whole time, he’d been in _detention_ , and he hadn’t even bothered to _tell_ her – so what was he planning to do about their date?!

Or … date _thing_.

It’s not a date. Not exactly. Like, he’d asked her and all, and it was perfect, and everything she’d ever dreamed of from her best friend (and crush of four years but, gosh, don’t tell him that) but they were only planning to see a movie … and have dinner at their favourite diner … and she’s quite sure he also promised to take her to that expensive macaroon place … because she loves macaroons (even though they’re _so_ bad for your teeth) … and he’s probably going to walk her home from there, too …

…oh, God, it _is_ a date.

The sudden revelation only fuels her wrath and reinforces the bite behind her screams, not that he can hear them. She’s pretty sure that window is soundproof as well as bulletproof.

“Do you know how long I’ve been looking for you!? You haven’t answered a single one of my texts _or_ my calls a-and _you have detention?!_ What were you planning to do about the movie, huh?! And were you just going to let me stand in front of Spanish class waiting for you until you got your sorry ass out of that room? Are you freaking _loco_ , man!? _¡Que te pasa!_ ”

 

**3:55 PM**

Jack cringes to himself.

“She’s speaking Spanish,” he sighs, getting up sheepishly and walking over to the window. Ed snorts at Jack’s misfortune and turns in his chair to watch the show. 

“How do you figure?” he asks, interested. 

“When she speaks Spanish, she does this thing with both hands,” Jack explains by pointing at both of his temples with two fingers from either hand in an exasperated sort of gesture. Ed looks back at Thia on the other side of the window and sees her doing the exact same thing.

“She’s going to start swearing in French in about three seconds and for that, she puts one hand on her waist and does fancy things with the other hand,” Jack continues, demonstrating the actions at the same time as Thia, who does them unconsciously herself. A second later, she notices that Jack is practically mocking her in front of the other boys and starts banging on the window with a small fist.

 

**3:56 PM**

“ _You are in so much trouble right now, Jack Frost!_ ” she yells from the other side of the window. Briefly from the corner of her eye, she notices a few stray students eyeing her weirdly as they walk out of the school and into the courtyard but she ignores them and keeps slamming the window with her first.

Inside the detention room, Jack has his hands up and motions for her to stop with her ruckus.

“Shh! Thia!”

“For heaven’s sake, Frost, control your woman,” Pitch scolds, frowning at the fiery girl in the snow.

“You – shut the fuck up,” Jack shoots back, “Guys, is there _any_ way I can open this window?” he asks the rest of the boys in the room.

“Are you sure you want to?” Nick asks hesitantly, also eyeing Thia warily.

“If I don’t open it first, _she_ will,” Jack warns them.

“That bloody window’s bulletproof and locked down, mate, you’ll have to leave this room to be able to talk to her,” Ed says. At this, Sandy faces Jack tiredly with a curious look, as if testing whether to see if he’d do it or not. Then he sneezes silently.

“You _do_ know you’d have to ditch detention for that,” Pitch reminds him, finally leaning away from his dictionary to sit back in his chair. From the other side of the window, Thia gives up on attacking the window and blows a blue strand of hair away from her face. After taking a deep breath to soothe her nerves, she takes off her bonnet and shakes off the snow before replacing it on her head. When she’s fixed her hair again, Jack is looking at her urgently from inside the building.

‘What now,’ she mouths at him with a deadpan expression on her face. She watches as Jack raises his hands and gesticulates in a _Stay there!_ manner before moving away. She shakes her head and puts her phone away.

“I swear, Jack,” she sighs, but at the thought of that stupid, silly boy, the tired frown on her face crinkles into a soft smile instantly when she looks up into the blue sky, snowflakes tingling her cheeks playfully.

 

**3:58 PM**

“What’re you going to do? Escape the wrath of the Wicked Witch of the East? Good luck with that, you gumbie,” Ed laughs, reclining in his seat and placing both hands behind his head. Jack grins with newfound purpose in his heart, now more motivated than ever to get out of the suffocating room and out into the snow with Thia.

“You’d be surprised what love can do to a man, Aster,” Pitch teases, lifting his legs to set his feet on the table in front of Ed again. Ed winces in annoyance and moves back a few inches. Jack groans in the middle of shrugging on his coat.

“Oh, for the love of –” he throws down his scarf on top of his bag before turning to stand in front of Pitch fully. Before either boy can say a word, a yellow tissue box flies through the air, cuffing the black-haired senior in the ear. Everyone turns to the culprit – Sandy – who has risen from his chair, his face laced with pure aggravation.

“H-how dare you–” Pitch splutters, dumbfounded.

“Kmgfdnbjk?” Phil also rises from his chair, hands curling into fists, angrily crushing what paper cranes are in his hands.

“Phil ask if you’re done with all your shit,” Nick translates happily. Pitch expels an irritated breath but slumps in his seat. He isn’t stupid. He knows when to back down. Phil and Nick aren’t exactly the seniors you want to piss off more than once within an hour, _especially_ Phil. 

“I’m watching you, you little prick,” he mumbles towards the shorter blonde senior threateningly. Sandy sniffs in response with a blank look on his face and sits back in his seat.

Jack throws Sandy a grateful look and retreats to his chair to snatch his scarf and his backpack. He glances up at Thia quickly through the window and when she realises that he’s preparing to ditch detention, she doesn’t know whether to feel honoured or disappointed in him. The romantic half of her is flattered and bursting with exhilaration but the coherent and rational half is seriously berating Jack for defying school rules. Again. Thia tilts her head tiredly and raises a challenging eyebrow at Jack. He sees it and shrugs one shoulder at her helplessly, throwing her a lopsided, apologetic smile (that definitely does _not_ make her heart flip) before walking to the detention room’s only door. She sighs again, watching her breath fog up in the crisp air before turning around to walk to the nearest bench.

 

**4:01 PM**

“How you plan to get out, Jack?” Nick asks.

“I’ll army crawl my way out of here,” Jack says quickly, placing his ear on the wood of the door to hear for any nearby teachers.

“Kbxcjadsjh,” Phil grumbles.

“Phil say Jack is crazy!” Nick translates, circling one finger next to his head. Jack shoots Phil an impish grin.

“Only the crazy people get to have fun, Phil,” he says before taking hold of the doorknob, turning it, and slowly nudging it open, careful to make as little noise as possible. Luckily for Jack, the ground floor’s janitor seems to have oiled the door recently and it swings open silently. As soon as it’s open, he looks back at the Detention Club and their hairy honorary member.

“I’m surprised none of you are trying to stop me this time,” he says, referring to the countless other times he’d tried (and succeeded) in ditching detention.

“We are _good_ friends of Jack! You have date! Is simple, no?” Nick says warmly and Jack shoots him a grin.

“Or some of us just don’t care,” Pitch offers uninterestedly, rubbing his injured ear and flipping through his stupid dictionary again.

“Thank you for sharing your unwarranted opinion, mate,” Ed says, rolling his eyes before throwing Jack a _Can you believe this shitface?_ look. Jack chuckles shortly before glancing outside the door again.

“Remember to be careful about that loose phone cord near the door,” Ed reminds Jack, who salutes him.

“Ahh, don’t worry about me. I’ll be quick as a bunny!” he chirps self-assuredly before disappearing from their sight. Ed huffs at the nickname as the door clicking shut gently behind the Jack.

A few seconds later, Sandy lifts his head from its resumed position on the table and, with a questioning look on his face, holds his fist next to his head with the thumb and little finger sticking out as a crude imitation of a phone.

_How is Jack going to get his phone from Ms. Anders’s office?_

“Um…” 

A knock on the window interrupts them (again) and everyone looks towards the disrupter. Of course, Jack is on the other side, having already magically escaped the building within seconds. He makes the same phone gesture as Sandy with his hand and wobbles it next to his head, pointing at Ed with a pleading look. The Australian junior rolls his eyes and nods, waving Jack off. That’s enough to let Jack know that, _yes_ , Ed will also get his phone for him when detention is over and _yeah_ , he’ll give it to him when they see each other tomorrow morning for the soccer game. They’ve been through this already. Jack clasps his hands together in front of his chest in an exaggerated thank you gesture and zips off to where Thia is sitting, kicking up snow in his wake.

“What a hormonal little shit,” Ed mutters with just a hint of brotherly fondness in his voice. Pitch eyes each one of the remaining students in the room quickly before rolling his eyes again and turning back to the dictionary. No one notices. 

“Is nice that Jack has someone this season, no?” Nick says to the group, starting a new paper crane. Offhandedly, Ed wonders where the semi-Slav keeps getting the origami when he didn’t even bring a bag into the room but waves it off.

“You’re assuming he’s the only one who has a special sheila for the holidays, mate,” Ed says cryptically, dropping his pen and reaching into his bag to pull out tonight’s assigned reading for Literature. Nick looks at Phil, who raises an eyebrow, then at Sandy, who frowns and shrugs one shoulder, then at Pitch, who isn’t paying attention.

“Bunny…?” Nick begins, trailing off and allowing Ed to explain himself. The junior doesn’t take the bait and smirks as he flips to his dog-eared (or rabbit-eared) page in the book.

“No can do, Nicky. That’s a story for next time.”

 

**4:05 PM**

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, _I’m so sorry_ ,” Jack skids to a halt and drops his backpack on the pavement and puts a hand on the tree right next to the bench to steady himself on the frozen ground. Thia giggles silently before berating herself.

_Stop it. Keep it together, oh my_ God _, Thia._

She stands up from the bench and brushes the snow off of her pants before taking a good look at Jack. He’s bent over just a bit to catch his breath from his spontaneous sprint and his brown bangs fall over his forehead and a little bit over his eyes. Blue eyes; not quite like the sea, nor the sky, not like that. They’re hard to explain, but they remind Thia of winter. Yeah, that’s the best way she can describe his eyes. They’re cold, but at the same time they carry the kind of mirth and warmth only winter can bring with every snowfall.

Forgiveness is no question; he has nothing to apologise for.

 

**4:06 PM**

Reaching up, she brushes some of the snow from his bangs before smirking at him. 

“Don’t worry about it, Frosty,” she tells him, using the nickname only she’s allowed to use. Hearing that stupid, special nickname come from her lips almost makes Jack lose his balance but he stands up straighter and shakes the rest of the snow from his hair.

“I’ll make it up to you, I swear. Macaroons, tooth paste, a minty whatever drink thing from Starbucks, you name it,” he says, reaching up unconsciously and pulling a stray, dead leaf from her shoulder. Thia bites her lip to keep from blushing too much - _stop it stop it stop it_ \- and shakes her head adamantly.

“No, it’s fine! I mean, you had Detention Club duties, right?” she teases him and he crinkles his nose.

“Even if you’re skipping out on them right now,” she frowns at him accusingly and he crinkles his nose even tighter before leaning forward with an impish grin on his lips. She tries her damned best to keep her eyes locked on his and to stop them from flickering down to his mouth.

“I’ve had … a long day,” he explains. His baritone voice suddenly reverberates with a bit more exhaustion than usual and Thia tilts her head to look at him more closely. His eyes do look more tired when they normally look mischievous and his shoulders are hunched over with fatigue.

“I can tell,” she mutters, subconsciously leaning forward to brush the snow off of the shoulders of his coat, as if it would remove some of the invisible weight from his shoulders.

“And I’ve been looking forward to this the whole week,” Jack says softly, stepping forward closer to Thia. He thanks whatever Gods are sitting on their thrones in the heavens above for clearing the courtyard for the afternoon. Jack doesn’t want a single soul in the vicinity anymore; it’s been a long, hard week, and all he wants is to spend time with Thia – _only_ Thia – and not to have to share her with the rest of the world.

 

**4:09 PM**

“‘This’ what?” Thia tests him, also inching closer. Jack laughs breathily and his breath creates a white cloud in the air. They both eye it for a moment before he responds.

“This _is_ a date, right?” he asks albeit a little hesitantly despite his steady voice. He sort of wants to confirm it. Half of him is so confident that they both want the same thing (if last Sunday was of any indication) but the other half of him isn’t so sure. It’s the part of him that was stuck in a bit of a dark area for one too many years; most likely from moving to too many towns in too little time; meeting so many new people but not really being _seen_ by them, never getting to know them, never getting to figure himself out.

It’s all a wretched train wreck, this teenaged life.

But then there’s Thia. Good ol’ Thia, also from Mr. Borne’s ninth grade English class. A blessing wrapped in tanned skin and a burst of rainbow glinting from the crown of her head, Jack probably fell head over heels for her (it’s a _little_ too early for the L-word) from day one; he just didn’t know it at the time.

He’s been dancing around his whole relationship with her for the past few months before realising that so far, she’s one thing he’s been getting right, and he wants to keep it that way.

But maybe at a different level. Maybe with a little more …

“Yeah, I’d like to think so,” she says quietly, and Jack feels a rush of satisfaction at the touch of red that graces her cheeks. He did that. _He_ did that!

“Then it is. It’s a date,” he says, taking the last step forward and leaning his forehead against hers and closing his eyes in relief. Thia inhales his scent – it’s barely there anymore since the day’s almost over and the crisp winter air is overcoming her olfactory senses – but she leans in closer and lets her naturally warm skin absorb some of the coolness that radiates from his naturally cold skin.

 

**4:11 PM**

“Have you really been looking forward to this all week?” she mutters shyly. Jack grins, opens his eyes and pulls away a little.

“I could hardly wait,” he reassures her. She has to refrain from grinning completely.

“If you really wanted me to believe that,” Thia looks him straight in the eye, and leans in close, so close that Jack notices immediately that their noses are practically touching and her lips are but a few centimeters from his, “then you wouldn’t have gotten yourself into detention.”

She pulls away completely and leaves Jack hanging, high and dry, and completely at the mercy of a perfectly timed gust of wind that rushes into his face. Thia giggles as he flinches at the wind blowing hair into his eyes.

“Aw, come _on_ , Thia, it wasn’t me this time–” but Jack is faced with the best interruption of the day when Thia rolls her eyes, reaches over and grips the front of his shirt.

“Learn to take a joke, Jack Frost,” she says with a playful glint in her eyes. Then, before doing the something she’s _really been wanting to do_ but is _really nervous about doing_ , she hesitates, just for a second, but only because the first time she’d done this was last Sunday and actually, Jack had done most of it, not her, and –

– _stop it, stop thinking, just do it!_

So with pursed lips and a determined look in her eye that Jack almost laughs at, Thia tugs him forward and skilfully finds his lips with hers. Jack yelps a little in surprise but relaxes instantly, finding this way more familiar than he should after only doing it one other time. He pulls his hands up and puts them everywhere; her arms, her shoulders; he plays with her hair and his fingers brush her ears accidentally – which makes her shiver delightfully – but his hands naturally land on her cheeks. The warmth is so welcoming and pleasant against his cold hands; the difference in temperature is deliciously soothing and he uses his hold on her face to readjust himself over her and angles his lips properly against hers.

He can stay like this forever, he really can. She’s got a complete hold on him and he never wants her to let go.

But eventually she has to, and when she pulls away first, they both gasp for air and she clutches at his chest, wrinkling the front of his shirt.

 

**4:14 PM**

“Um,” Thia says before thinking and she looks up at Jack for a second before they both burst into a fit of giggles and chuckles.

“Wow,” Jack breathes, and when Thia giggles again, the sound of it rings fresh in his ear delighting him so much that he leans down and pecks her quickly, catching her by surprise. She doesn’t stop giggling even through his kiss.

“Is this going to be a normal thing now?” she asks contentedly, moving her hands from his shirt to the back of his neck.

“God, I hope so,” he replies, moving his hands to her waist and pulling her into an unexpected hug. Thia hums in delight and pulls herself into the crook of his neck, blushing harder when she remembers that she’d been wanting to do so for quite some time now. She waits until the blush dies down before remembering something.

“Jack?”

“Hmm?”

“The movie starts in, like, ten minutes,” she reminds him. He pulls away abruptly and she regrets saying anything, missing his proximity immediately.

“Shit,” he swears, grabbing their bags in one hand and her hand in the other.

Jack trips a little in his rush to get to the bus stop, almost taking Thia down with him, but she pulls him up at the last possible moment and they keep going, keep running. Somehow he slips his bag on and helps her get hers onto her back, too. And the whole time, he keeps a firm grip on her hand. It’s soft and gentle; his hand is cold, almost as cold as ice, and hers is warm (it reminds him of summer). The temperature difference is deliciously soothing and makes him lock his fingers with hers, and like the snowfall itself, he holds her steady.


End file.
